


Jambalaya

by SylvieW



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cooking, Established Relationship, M/M, Polish food, Seizures, cajun food, contractor Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 03:29:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6594799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylvieW/pseuds/SylvieW
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek hasn’t had a job for years. Now that he’s decided to stay in Beacon Hills, he wants to put down roots. But making friends with his co-workers is a lot harder than he remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jambalaya

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic, Boyd, Erica and Isaac are around Derek’s age, and Stiles has never met them before. It is canon divergent as of season one.

*

It took two years for Derek to decide to stay in Beacon Hills.

The decision did not actually coincide with a certain loudmouthed teenager’s 18th birthday, thank you very much, Scott. They just happened to occur within a week of each other. 

As much as Stiles had rejoiced at his birthday’s arrival, it didn’t really make a lot of difference for Derek. He was happy about it, obviously. Adding sex to their relationship was great, but it didn’t change anything. He’d already wanted to devote all his time to Stiles. He’d already thought of the Stilinski house more as home than his own loft. He already cared for Stiles with an intensity that terrified him. Adding sex to the mix was inevitable. A physical representation of the feelings he already knew he possessed. 

It didn’t take long after that for Stiles to start making noises about Derek _putting down roots._ “You can’t live off your savings forever,” he’d said. Derek wasn’t living off his savings. He was living off the income generated by the properties he and Laura had purchased over the years. The warehouse in New York, the highrise in Texas, and the row of bungalows in Virginia all turned a tidy little profit that kept him in the black.

Now that he was staying, he could admit that he wouldn’t mind something more stable. Something he could use to build his life back up. Something to focus on other than his boyfriend.

The Sheriff had been dropping hints all along, even back when he and Stiles were still tentative friends. The hints increased when they finally got their their heads out of their asses and started dating. Now that Stiles was 18, and Derek was clearly becoming a fixture, they were about as subtle as an anvil. 

The Sheriff would _casually_ insert into conversation things like, “providing for your future family,” or “contributing to the community,” or “moving your life in a positive, stable direction.”

Stilinski men worked for their living.

And Derek desperately wanted to be a Stilinski.

So he let the Sheriff call up a friend, and get him an interview at a construction firm. He put on his nicest pants and a plain dress shirt. He even shaved, despite Stiles’ adamant objections. 

Derek thought the interview went terribly. He answered the technical questions properly, but he wasn’t good with people. He didn’t know the latest baseball scores, he’d never even heard of John Cena. He knew construction, he had tons of experience, but he couldn’t find the words to tell Bill about it. 

He was certain that he wouldn’t be hired and he was miserable at the thought of disappointing Stiles and the Sheriff. He was completely taken by surprise when Bill called and asked if he could start Monday.

Instead of facing the Stilinskis' disappointment, they had an impromptu pizza party. Stiles even let his dad have a slice of meat lovers for the occasion. Derek appreciated the congratulatory blowjob, but he liked the smile on Stiles’ face even more.

Monday was tough. It wasn’t difficult for him to wake up early, and Stiles had packed him a lunch the night before. He found the address of the house they were working on with no trouble, but he almost couldn’t get out of his car. It wasn’t a solo job by any means. The whole house was being renovated and that meant a crew. A large group of people who were already familiar with each other. A big group of cohorts, who didn’t know Derek, not really, just the stories of death and mayhem that peppered his life. 

Derek almost drove away. He envisioned turning the car back on, getting on the highway and leaving town, never looking back. Then his phone buzzed. Stiles had sent: _You got this. I love you._ It was a simple message, but it was enough. He tucked his phone away and went to report to the foreman of the site.

George was a down-to-earth guy. He said he liked efficiency. He told Derek to show up on time and do his best, and they’d get along fine. He didn’t comment on Derek being nervous, didn’t ask about his family or his history with the law. He just gave him some papers to sign and put him to work. 

The house was in the early stages of renovation so he did mostly demo. A lot of drywall came down in the first two hours. Derek had to remember to pace himself with the other workers, so they didn’t think it was odd when the swing of the sledge hammer didn’t tire him out.

One guy, Jack, kept making comments, like how Derek was in for a surprise, how different it was to do “real work” instead of pumping iron at a gym. Derek mostly ignored him. He knew where his strength came from and he didn’t need to make an enemy on his first day to prove the guy wrong. 

It turned out he didn’t have to handle it himself. He got put next to two other workers: Adrian, a short guy with spiky hair and a cocky grin, and Lars, a gentle giant who made about as much small talk as Derek. Meaning none.

Adrian talked when he felt like it, and worked quietly when he didn’t. He whistled along to the radio sometimes, but it was a low gentle pitch that didn’t hurt Derek’s ears.

Jack made a crack about new guys never pulling their weight and Adrian had shut him down quickly: “That must make you new, huh, Jack? You’ve done more smack talking than smashing today.”

Jack scoffed and grumbled, but he shut up. 

Lunch was awkward. Derek grabbed his cooler from his car, but he was too nervous to approach the group of guys eating outside together, enjoying the unseasonably warm January sun.

He sat on the trunk of his car and listened to them talk while he ate. Stiles had packed plenty of food, and Derek worked through it steadily, grateful for the energy. At the bottom of the small cooler, Stiles had put a note. Derek smiled at the ridiculous hearts and smiley faces surrounding the silly knock knock joke. There was a little drawing of a wolf, too, with big eyebrows. Derek knew it was supposed to be him because Stiles had drawn it before. He pretended to find it annoying, but he loved it because it made Stiles snicker whenever he found an excuse to bring it out. 

“That from your sweetheart?” Adrian asked, walking past with Lars.

Derek nodded. He liked that. Sweetheart.

Adrian didn’t press for details, and they went back to work soon after that. The afternoon passed more quickly, and it wasn’t long before George was calling for everyone to finish up and head out. 

He offered Derek a quick pat on the back as he left and said, “Good work. See you tomorrow, Hale.” Derek just nodded, but he was thrilled. He didn’t need the foreman to gush, but the words of encouragement were welcome, and clearly he’d done well enough that they weren’t firing him on the spot.

He drove straight to the Stilinski house. Stiles bounded down the stairs as soon as he got in the door and peppered him with questions. They took a shower together so Derek could wash the construction grime off, then settled downstairs to watch TV before the Sheriff came home for dinner.

“Proud of you,” Stiles mumbled, snuggling into Derek. The words wrapped around him like a well-earned hug.

***

The next few days went pretty much the same. Derek liked his co-workers well enough, but he still hadn’t worked up the nerve to have lunch with them.

On Thursday, he could see there was a bit of a commotion happening where the rest of the guys were eating and a few of them kept shooting glances at Derek, but someone was using a jackhammer in the house so he couldn’t quite hear what they were saying.

He focused on his sandwich until Jack came over, a couple of the other men trailing after him.

“Hey, dude, what’s up?” Jack asked. Derek thought his grin was suspiciously friendly and he eyed the white styrofoam cup in Jack’s hand.

Derek just shrugged and waited for Jack to get to the point.

“So, uh, Boyd’s wifey made him gumbo,” Jack explained. “She always packs a bucket load, so Boyd shares. Thought we’d bring some over for you.” He offered the cup to Derek, who took it, and tried to sniff it as subtly as he could. “It’s good stuff. Everyone here loves it.”

 _Lie_. Derek wasn’t sure why Jack would say that if it wasn’t true, but it could have been a half truth, or an exaggeration. Either way, Derek couldn’t smell anything wrong with the gumbo and he liked it, so he took a bite. Derek enjoyed spicy food. He liked the burst of flavours competing for attention, the sizzle in his mouth as it burned and the zing of his mouth healing.

Jack was staring at him expectantly, so he nodded, indicating the cup. “It’s good,” he said, taking another mouthful. It really was good gumbo, obviously made with fresh ingredients and thoughtfully-added spices that had blended and simmered together.

Jack looked confused, and the guys behind him started to laugh. Derek still didn’t get the joke, and he was starting to feel self-conscious with all those people gathered around, waiting for him to do _something_ specific.

Boyd wandered over with a large tupperware in hand. “See Jack? Not everyone is a big baby when it comes to good food.” He settled next to Derek on the trunk.

“Come on, Boyd,” Jack whined, “Your wife puts so much spice in that thing, you practically breathe fire from one bite.”

“Or the other end,” one of the others joked.

“It’s a family recipe,” Boyd said, blandly.

“It’s very good,” Derek offered. “Tastes like tradition.”

Boyd looked at him consideringly, then nodded. “She does good. Always packs a shit ton, though. No way I can finish it, and these guys wuss out from the spices. Want some more?”

Derek nodded eagerly and held out his cup. Stiles wouldn’t mind if he didn’t finish what he’d packed, and the gumbo really was delicious. Boyd filled his cup up twice more before lunch was over, and Derek went back to work feeling pleasantly warm.

***

Stiles was ecstatic when Derek explained why he hadn’t finished his sandwiches. “Look at you, making friends like a real boy! Peanut butter can be had any day. Peanut butter is ordinary, but gumbo? That stuff makes memories.”

“Have you had it?” Derek asked.

“Nope, but according to _Princess and the Frog_ it brings people together,” Stiles said. Derek scoffed and pushed him off the couch. Stiles sprang up and raced into the kitchen. “I’m gonna make you cookies, and you can share them with your new BFF.”

“He’s not my BFF, and you don’t have to do that,” Derek said. Stiles ignored him, and Derek didn’t have the heart to say that Boyd was just being nice after the others had tried to play a joke on him. Besides, Stiles liked baking, and Derek liked his cookies. 

The next day he went to work with his usual lunch cooler and a tin of Kołaczki. Stiles had made five dozen of the polish cream cheese cookies from his babcia’s old recipe, half with raspberry filling and half with apricot. 

Derek was nervous all through lunch. He liked Stiles’ cookies, but that didn’t mean Boyd would appreciate the gesture. He knew he should just approach the crew, but he was stalling. If Derek wanted to share them, he was going to have to get up and walk over to the group. 

It shouldn’t have been that hard. Derek was 24 years old for god’s sake. He'd made friends before. He had a boyfriend, didn’t he? He had a pack, even though it was small and Scott barely listened to him and Jackson didn’t actually like spending time with them. He shouldn’t have felt like he needed to win people over with cookies. It was a nice thing to do, he just needed to offer the damn cookie and go back to his car. No big deal.

He was starting to think Stiles was developing a sixth sense for when he was about to back out of intimidating situations, because he chose that moment to text Derek: _How did Boyd like the cookies?_

Derek didn’t want to lie over something so stupid, so he grabbed the tin and stalked over to Boyd.

Everyone stopped talking and looked at him expectantly. His mind went blank for a second, and he couldn’t think of what to say, so he just stared at the tin in his hands, hoping something would come to him.

“What’s up, Derek?” Adrian asked.

“My sweetheart made cookies,” Derek blurted out. 

“Yeah? What kind?” Adrian said, peering interestedly into the tin when Derek opened it up and offered it to him.

“Kołaczki.”

“Bless you,” Jack cracked, and the others laughed.

Derek flushed. “My polish isn’t very good.”

“Polish, huh?” Boyd accepted a cookie, then spoke with his mouth full. “I don’t care what they're called, they taste good.”

Derek offered the tin to the rest of the group. Everyone accepted except Mike, who stared at them wistfully. “My wife’s watching my figure,” he said mournfully. The conversation moved on, and the cookies disappeared. When they were finished, no one seemed bothered that Derek didn’t go back to his car.

***

Derek was heading out to his car for lunch on Monday when Boyd stopped him. “Hey, Derek, you like étouffée?” Derek nodded. “Erica packed enough for an army as usual, come over here and I’ll dish some up for you.”

Derek grabbed his cooler quickly and settled beside Boyd on a stack of lumber. As promised, Boyd passed him a cup filled to the brim with the rice and shrimp mixture.  
A curly haired guy sat next to Derek, and Boyd passed a cup to him as well. Derek struggled to remember his name.

“Oh, yeah, Isaac, this is Derek,” Boyd said. “He started last week while you were off.”

“Enjoy your little holiday, Isaac?” Jack asked.

“I wouldn’t call getting a nail through my boot a holiday, Jack,” Isaac said flatly. Derek winced. He didn’t really know how long it took for a human to recover from something like that, but it’d happened to him before, and it hurt like a bitch.

Lunch went by much faster when he was sitting in a group instead of listening from afar.

***

“What do you want for dinner?” Stiles asked, head stuck in the fridge.

“Jambalaya,” Derek said immediately. He’s been sampling Boyd’s wife’s cooking for weeks now, but she had yet to make that. The more he had of the spices and seafood, the more he wanted it. He hadn’t had it in years, and even then it was hard to find somewhere that really did it well.

“Huh,” Stiles said. He closed the fridge and pulled out his phone. He tapped away for a minute, then huffed. “This is going to take some research.”

“Stiles, I didn’t really mean it,” Derek called after him as he went up the stairs. “I can think of something else.”

“Nope,” Stiles said. “The decision has been made. Thou shalt not force me to make another one.” Stiles really did enjoy cooking, but he hated the process of trying to decide what to make on any given night. If he made his decision and an ingredient was missing, he refused to change his plans. Derek had made many a last minute trip to the grocery store.

They didn’t have very many of the ingredients for jambalaya, most notably the sausage, so they went to the store together. 

Between the research, shopping, chopping, simmering and cooking, it was almost nine o’clock by the time they sat down to eat. 

“This looks...interesting,” Sheriff Stilinski said, staring down at his bowl. 

“That did not sound complimentary, but I don’t even care. I’m so hungry,” Stiles said, digging in.

Derek tasted it as well. It was pretty good. Certainly nothing to turn his nose up at, but…

“You don’t like it,” Stiles said.

“What?” Derek said. “No, it’s fine.”

Stiles scoffed. “ _Fine_. Fine isn’t good enough. I know all of your faces, and that was, _This is good, but it’s not what I wanted._ You don’t like it.”

“Stiles,” Derek groaned. “I like it, okay?” Stiles just shook his head and scowled at the food. “Look, it’s not like I expected you to make authentic jambalaya straight from New Orleans on your first try.”

“I need to do more research,” Stiles muttered.

Derek looked at the Sheriff for help, but he just shook his head. Derek was a bit concerned he'd created a monster. 

***

“Why are we here again?” Jackson said testily. He and Scott were sitting at the kitchen table, looking bored. Lydia and Allison were giggling in the living room and Stiles was puttering away at the stove.

“To learn more about important werewolf practices and sample Stiles’ excellent cooking,” Derek said. He probably could’ve held the pack meeting another time or somewhere else, but after five batches in two weeks, Derek and the Sheriff were tired of having to eat all of Stiles’ attempts at jambalaya on their own.

“Almost done,” Stiles said. “I swear I’ve got it right this time.”

“I’m sure it’s great, babe,” Derek said. Stiles didn’t acknowledge him, just muttered under his breath about spice blends.

They set the table and called the girls into the kitchen as Stiles dished up the food. Everyone sat down to eat, and it really was Stiles’ best try yet. Everyone was distracting Stiles with praise, so Derek was hoping this would be the last of it, and he wouldn’t have to try and give Stiles the reaction he wanted.

And then Scott--fucking Scott--reached for the hot sauce.

“It’s not spicy enough?” Stiles demanded.

Derek suppressed a groan. How had he not noticed the sauce was put on the table?

“I’m sure it’s fine, Stiles, I just like really, really hot food,” Scott said, and Derek gave up all hope.

“Fine?” Stiles said. “It’s fine? Ugh.” Stiles pushed his bowl away in disgust and turned on Derek. “What is it missing?”

Derek sighed. They’d already had this conversation with every other batch. “I don’t know, Stiles, I’ve never made it before.”

“Ugh,” Stiles said dramatically. “How is this so difficult?”

“It tastes fine to me, Stiles,” Allison said.

“Thanks, Ally, but it’s just not what I’m going for,” Stiles said, dropping his head onto the table. He heaved a giant sigh then popped back up. “Well, then, back to the drawing board.” 

Derek barely suppressed a sigh of his own. 

***

Derek leaned against the sheet of drywall, holding it steady while Boyd wielded the nail gun. Isaac was supporting the sheet on Boyd’s other side. If Isaac had noticed that his help wasn’t actually needed, he didn’t say anything.

They only had about half an hour left before they were done for the day, and while Derek, Boyd and Isaac were powering through in hopes of finishing the wall that day, Jack and his cronies had lost their momentum on the other side of the room. 

Derek took Boyd’s lead and ignored their jokes and ribbing while they skived off. Glances at Isaac’s face showed he wasn’t having as much success.

He heard Stiles’ heartbeat moments before he darted into the room. 

“Hey,” Stiles greeted brightly. He had a yellow hard hat perched jauntily on his head but Derek scowled down at Stiles’ worn-out sneakers. 

“Watch your feet. This is a construction zone, remember?” Derek said. What he meant was some variation of _hello, how are you, I missed you_ , but it didn’t seemed to come out that way.

Stiles never really minded though. He was good at reading through the lines. He tapped his hat. “I noticed. Good to see you, too.” He blew Derek an exaggerated kiss. 

“Geez, Hale.” Derek cringed as soon as Jack opened his mouth. “This kid with you? Talk about jailbait.” He jeered while his friends knocked elbows and chuckled.

Derek sighed. This wasn’t the first time they’d received nasty comments about their age difference. Derek had lost track of how many times he’d been called a cradle robber. It never got easier, but he loved Stiles too much to walk away over something as stupid as a number. Stiles always reminded him that in a few years no one would care about the difference, and Derek was starting to actually believe they could be together that long. 

He watch Stiles narrow his eyes and turn his sharp gaze on Jack. “If I was jailbait, my dad would have already arrested him. Let me guess, Jack, right?” Jack nodded, still smirking slightly. “You drive that tricked out Honda outside, right? Personalized license plate? Fancy rims?”

“Yeah, that’s my ride,” Jack said. He would brag about his car to anyone who would listen, and constantly put down other peoples vehicles, including Derek’s Camaro. 

Stiles grinned. “Wouldn’t the Sheriff love to hear about your illegally tinted windows?” He turned back to Derek. “What do you think, babe? Should we call Dad over to meet us for dinner?”

Derek could feel Boyd shaking with mirth beside him. “Your call, love. He’s an awfully busy man, I don’t know if he’d appreciate having to come all the way here.”

“Hmm,” Stiles drawled, turning his attention back to Jack. “Probably best if you make yourself scarce.”

Jack took that literally and bolted from the room. Derek wondered if he would even bother to check in with the foreman before hightailing it out of there. His friends eyed Stiles, looking worried but begrudgingly respectful, then followed Jack.

“Well,” Stiles said. “Where was I? Where’s Boyd?”

Derek blinked in surprise. He'd been expected Stiles to go back to teasing him. 

Boyd turned around, looking suspicious. “That would be me.”

“Excellent,” Stiles said, gleefully. Derek knew it was gleeful, though others might’ve called it mischievous. “Does your wife know how to make jambalaya?”

Derek groaned. “Stiles, come on.”

“Derek, you brought this on yourself. Boyd?”

Boyd shrugged. “Yeah, she does some. It’s really good. You want her to make you some?” He said slowly.

“Not exactly,” Stiles said. “I want her to teach me.”

“Stiles, you don’t need to do this,” Derek said.

“Derek, I have scoured the internet, and I still can’t make it properly! Something is missing and I’m going to find out what and then you will have perfect jambalaya whenever your little heart desires,” Stiles said, gesticulating wildly. 

Isaac started laughing at them. “What’s so great about jambalaya?” 

“I don’t know!” Stiles cried. “That’s the problem.”

Boyd chuckled. “I’ll ask Erica. She’ll probably think it’s fun, but she might be busy with work.”

Stiles fistpumped. “Awesome, sure, yeah, whenever is good for her.”

“Does that mean you’ll stop trying to make it until she teaches you?” Derek begged.

Stiles looked a bit sheepish. “Yeah. Dad’s refused to eat anymore leftovers and I kinda agree.”

“You could make more weird polish cookies,” Isaac suggested.

Stiles frowned. “Derek did you call my kolaczki ‘weird polish cookies?’”

“Of course not,” Derek protested.

Boyd snorted, “He didn’t, but he sure didn’t pronounce it like that either.”

Stiles gave a put upon sigh. “Derek, what will Babcia think?”

“Please don’t send your grandmother after me again,” Derek said. The woman was terrifying, even if she had taught Derek how to say Stiles’ first name. Also the Sheriff’s. And her dog’s. 

Stiles snickered. “Would I do that?”

“In a heartbeat. Not that I don’t appreciate you dropping in, but was there anything else you came for? Because we really should try to finish this.”

“Nah, mostly just wanted to talk to Boyd,” Stiles said, but he took a seat on an overturned bucket. “Seeing you in a toolbelt though, definitely worth the trip.”

Derek rolled his eyes while Boyd and Isaac laughed, then set to work. If he happened to adjust his stance in a way he knew showed off his ass, that was his business.

***

It took three weeks for them to find a day when Erica had enough free time to meet with Stiles. Derek didn’t mind the wait. It built anticipation and gave them a chance to not be so sick of andouille sausage. 

Boyd invited Derek and Isaac over to watch the game while Stiles and Erica cooked. Derek didn’t actually know what kind of game it was, but he prefer to spend his weekends near Stiles, so he agreed.

Stiles was so excited that he made makowiec to bring for dessert. He even let Derek call it poppy-seed cake instead of butchering the polish. 

Erica and Boyd ushered them inside, and happily accepted their offering. Erica took Stiles into the kitchen with her almost immediately, leaving Derek in the living room with Boyd and Isaac. He could still hear them clearly, and there was no door in the frame leading into the kitchen. Derek chose an armchair so that he could see Stiles if he looked over.

Derek was a little disappointed when he realized the game Boyd mentioned was football. Of all the sports available, football was the one he understood the least. Lacrosse, soccer and hockey were pretty straightforward; get the thing in the goal. Baseball even, everyone knew there were three strikes and you were trying to get around the bases. Football though, that was a mess. The Sheriff had tried to explain it to him, but he just couldn’t get past shouting numbers, asses in the air, and slamming into each other. 

Fortunately for Derek, Isaac didn’t seem all that interested in the game either. Boyd didn’t shush them for talking about other things even when it wasn’t a commercial break. He even added his own two cents when he felt like it. Derek wondered if this was one of those social constructs Stiles had told him about, where nobody actually cared about the activity or the outcome, it was just an excuse to get together. It was certainly better than Derek’s experience with mini golf. 

He listened with half an ear to Erica and Stiles talk in the kitchen. They were getting along well, laughing and joking as they went through the recipe.

“You seem to know most of this stuff,” Erica said. “What do you need me for?”

Stiles gave a frustrated huff. “Something was missing. Everything I tried was just _fine._ ”

“What’s wrong with fine?” Erica asked. “He ate it, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, of course, but,” Stiles hesitated and Derek could picture him shrugging. “Derek doesn’t ask for very much. When he actually does, I try to do as much as I can to get it for him. Small comforts, you know?”

Derek missed Erica’s reply when Isaac asked him a question. He tuned back in when Erica was explaining her ‘secret ingredient’.

“It’s no good to make it when you’re rushed or pissed off. You have to infuse it with good feelings,” Erica said.

“Really?” Stiles said dubiously.

“I know, I know,” Erica said. “Sounds like a load of shit, but I swear you can taste the difference.”

After they had the jambalaya put together, they came out into the livingroom while it simmered. Stiles, brat that he was, wiggled into Derek’s lap. No one gave them a hard time about it though, and Derek enjoyed having him so close. Working full time meant he couldn’t spend as much time with Stiles, however it also meant he had something to keep him occupied while he waited for Stiles to get out of school.

Stiles and Erica ignored the game as much as Isaac and Derek had. “So where did you pick up a taste for Cajun food, Derek?” Erica asked.

Derek shrugged. “My sister and I spent a summer in New Orleans. There was an old woman, the grandmother of the friend my sister was visiting.” She had actually been a voodoo queen, but most people didn’t believe that part, or that her grandson was a werewolf. “She took a liking to us, and started feeding us every chance she got.”

“You didn’t tell me about this,” Stiles said.

“She was interesting,” Derek said. “It was only a year after my family died. She used to say, ‘cher, we’re gonna burn the sad right outta you’ then give me something so spicy I thought steam would come out of my ears.”

Stiles laughed, and it set the others at ease so they could enjoy the story rather than focusing on Derek’s sad history.

“Did it work?” Erica asked.

“No, but it was fun trying,” Derek said. “Eventually she gave up, said I needed a different kind of heat to warm me up.” He nuzzled Stiles neck a bit. “I didn’t really understand what she meant until after I met you.”

Stiles laughed. “Damn straight. I’m the hottest thing you’ll ever get.”

Derek agreed, but he didn’t want Stiles to get too cocky so he dumped him off his lap. Stiles hit the floor with an outraged squawk while the others laughed.

After they all settled down, Stiles remained on the floor with his back against Derek’s legs and asked, “Where did you learn to cook, Erica?”

“My mom taught me the basics, then when I got with Boyd, his Grandma taught me her recipes. I knew I’d been accepted into the family when she dragged me into the kitchen and ordered me to start chopping okra,” Erica joked. “For a wedding present, she gave me a recipe box with all her best ones written out by hand.”

“You do a damn good job with them, too,” Boyd said fondly.

It took hours for the jambalaya to be simmered to Erica’s satisfaction, but Derek didn’t find the company too agitating. They had a fun time waiting, and when it was deemed ready, they were directed to set the table before everyone sat down with their bowls.

Erica had showed Stiles how to whip up some cornbread to go along with the main dish. Derek admired the caramelized edges, and the tender texture. So often people tried to pass off dry, tasteless bricks as cornbread, but this was the real deal.

Stiles watched him like a hawk as he took his first bite. The flavours burst in his mouth and he felt it warm him from the inside out. It didn’t just taste like spices, it tasted like affection, well-being and close-knit ties.

“Fuck, yeah,” Stiles said, bouncing in his seat. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

Isaac gaped at Stiles. “What the hell do you mean? His face didn’t even change.”

“Totally did, you just don’t know where to look,” Stiles explained. “His eyebrows went from _slightly murderous but I’m okay with this situation_ to _slightly murderous and damn this is good_.”

“Stiles,” Derek sighed.

“See, now they’re doing _I kinda want to murder you but I love you too much_ ,” Stiles said, with a smirk. Derek rolled his eyes but a smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth. Stiles poked him, “This is it though, right? Not just fine?”

“Much better than fine,” Derek said. “Exactly like I remember.”

“Great,” Erica said. She waved her fork at Stiles. “Next time you can teach me how to make perogies, you polish freak.”

Stiles huffed. “There's more to polish food than perogies.”

“There's more to cajun food than jambalaya and gumbo,” Erica countered.

“Guess we’ll be trading recipes then,” Stiles said smugly. Derek found that he didn’t mind the prospect of spending another day in Boyd and Erica’s house with Stiles in their kitchen.

***

They started visiting Boyd and Erica at least every other weekend. Erica and Stiles would take turns showing each other recipes, and some weeks, they’d end up with a strange polish/Cajun fusion on the table.

They’d been cooking together for three months when they witnessed Erica having a seizure for the first time. Derek noticed an unfamiliar smell in the air moments before he heard Stiles’ panicked shout. Boyd and Derek ran for the doorway to see Erica crumpled on the floor. Derek finally understood why there was no door for the kitchen. If it had been in place, Erica would be blocking it, making it impossible for Boyd to rush to her side as he was now. 

He held her gently until the seizure stopped. Isaac came running down hall and offered Boyd a pair of sweatpants. Derek hadn’t even noticed Isaac going toward the bedroom, he was so absorbed by Stiles’ panic and Erica’s safety. 

Stiles shook himself a bit then turned off all the burners they’d been working with. He stepped around them carefully and came over to Derek, pulling him toward to couch. The smell finally reached Derek and he realize Stiles was trying to give them enough privacy to change Erica’s pants. She was confused at first and they waited in tense silence while Boyd tried to keep her from getting up. 

“We’re going to have to go to the hospital,” Boyd said softly, when she’d fully regained cognizance.

“No, we don’t,” Erica protested. “I’m fine.”

“You hit your head on the way down,” Stiles said. He was wrapped around Derek, so close Derek could feel him shaking.

Erica sighed, but didn’t object again. Boyd started carefully maneuvering her to her feet, but her muscles were still weak. 

“Would you like me to carry you out to the car?” Derek offered. 

Erica hesitated briefly, then nodded. Boyd moved over and Derek lifted her carefully into his arms as she cried silently. He went straight out to the car and placed her gently in the passenger seat. Boyd was close behind, and after checking that Erica was settled comfortably he went around to the driver’s side.

“You calm enough to drive?” Isaac asked.

“We’ll be fine,” Boyd said. “Can you…”

“Don’t worry about us, we'll figure it out,” Isaac assured him. 

Boyd nodded tersely and drove away. Derek and Isaac went back inside. Stiles was back in the kitchen. “I thought maybe I’d finish this so they have something to eat when they get home. Otherwise I’ll just have to throw it out.”

Isaac nodded. “That would help. Erica takes a couple hours to recover, but she’ll be better by tomorrow, as long as she didn’t hit anything too hard on the way down.”

“Does this happen often?” Derek asked.

Isaac shrugged. “Not as much as it used to, but...I guess the medications aren’t working as well as they hoped.”

Stiles finished dinner quickly, and they didn’t linger after packing the food away. They were both quiet on the ride home, and they didn’t talk much before bed. Derek found himself awake longer than usual, staring at the ceiling and picturing Erica’s prone form, remembering the smell of her embarrassment and sadness. 

“Are you awake?” Stiles asked at three in the morning.

“Yeah,” Derek said softly. Stiles wiggled closer, snuffling into Derek’s neck. “I was wondering...Do you think I should offer Erica the bite?”

Stiles levered himself up on his elbows and looked down at Derek. “You trust them enough?”

Derek sighed. “I think I do. I’m pretty sure we’re friends.”

“I know you’re suggesting it because you want to help, but keep in mind that she would be your beta, if you did,” Stiles said carefully. “Do you think she would be good pack?”

Derek nodded. “She’s feisty and strong. She’s loyal, too. You’ve seen her with Boyd. She understands the importance of family and traditions.” He traced his hand along Stiles jaw. “I think...Maybe, I’d offer it to both of them. Start forming a real pack.”

Stiles hummed consideringly. “Boyd is good at keeping calm. I wonder how well he would manage the shift.”

“It’ll be challenging at first, but after he adjusts, his temperament will help him a lot,” Derek said. “I’ve been considering…”

Stiles leaned over to kiss him. “Considering what?”

“I have you, and I have a job. If I had a real pack, maybe we could rebuild the old house,” Derek said carefully. “When you’re home from college, you can stay with me there.”

Stiles lowered himself down and put his forehead against Derek’s chest. “I don’t want to talk about going away right now. But the rest is good. It would be good for you to have more support, outside of Dad and me. Jackson will probably always be a tool, but maybe if there was more of a pack, more of a home, Scott would be a better beta.”

“He’s not so bad,” Derek protested, knowing how much Stiles adored Scott.

“He’s a shit beta, and we all know it,” Stiles said. “You deserve to have a pack, Derek. You deserve to be happy.”

Derek hugged Stiles closer to him. He hadn’t realized that was what he was waiting for. Someone to grant him permission to move on with his life. Stiles always knew what he needed, and Derek was going to find a way to get it.

***

Derek wiped his face on his t-shirt as he walked outside. According to the calendar, it was well and truly autumn, but the temperature was still high. 

The crew trickled out onto the sunny lawn as they reached a good time to stop. “Looking good so far, eh?” Adrian called.

Derek smiled. He took pride in the progress of all the construction sites they worked on, but this was different. This was _his_ home. He'd agonized over every detail of the plan, and while he’d hired a foreman to oversee the crew, when it came down to it, he was the one calling the shots, and all the workers knew it.

He heard the rumble of Stiles’ jeep and turned to watch Boyd. He wanted to see how long it took for Boyd to pick up the sound. It wasn’t long before Boyd turned to Derek with a quirked eyebrow. Derek smirked and strolled over to Stiles’ usual parking spot to greet him.

Stiles pulled in and hopped out, into Derek’s waiting arms. “Hi there.”

“Didn’t think you’d be back so soon.” Derek nuzzled into his throat, chasing the scent of Stiles under the smell of college and...cabbage?

“I decided to surprise you,” Stiles said. “And I brought lunch.”

“Yeah?” Derek released Stiles so he could open the back of the jeep and retrieve his crockpot.

“Yeah, I made enough for everyone,” Stiles said. Derek took the crockpot from him, leaving Stiles to grab a large tupperware and a stack of paper plates and plastic cutlery. “Who’s hungry?” Stiles called out to the crew.

“What did you make?” Mike asked, eyeing the containers.

“Golabki, which is essentially cabbage rolls. It’s got a shit ton of cabbage so your wife can ignore the meat. Also mizeria, that’s like cucumber salad,” Stiles said. He dished everything up quickly and the crew dug in.

When he had finished his own meal, Derek gestured to the house and asked Stiles, “What do you think?”

“I like it so far,” Stiles said. He leaned into Derek’s side. “You do good work, Der.”

Derek sighed in satisfaction, warmed from the inside out.


End file.
